


Rock the Cockpit

by DachOsmin



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Age Difference, Awkward Flirting, Blow Jobs, Cockpit Sex, Hero Worship, M/M, X-Wing Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-28 23:49:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16732986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DachOsmin/pseuds/DachOsmin
Summary: “Would you like to see my ship?" Poe blurts out, right in the middle of the General’s sentence and far too loud.The General and Bodhi both jump in their chairs, and Poe immediately wants to die on the spot.





	Rock the Cockpit

**Author's Note:**

  * For [celeste9](https://archiveofourown.org/users/celeste9/gifts).



“Don’t eat before your shift tomorrow,” the General tells Poe as he slips into her office with a stack of files clutched to his chest. “I’ll be hosting a small dinner.”

Poe skips over the part where he protests and just nods; even though she treats him like a formal aide-de-camp he’s still technically just a captain on a temporary duty assignment. He’s not supposed to sit down around her, let alone eat at her table. But what General Organa wants, General Organa gets.

She looks at him with a contemplative gaze as he sets the files down on the edge of her desk. “Also, wear your dress uniform.”

That does give him pause; he’s never known her to hobnob with military leadership more than she has to. “Defense contractors?” he hazards. She’s been looking into buying upgrades to the T-70, not that he’s supposed to know that.

She laughs, shaking her head. “You wish,” she says, “But no. Bodhi is an old friend.”

He blinks. “Bodhi?” he asks, and he knows right away that his too-casual act isn’t fooling her a bit.

“Yes?” She swivels her chair around and tilts her head to consider him. “Bodhi Rook. He fought on Scarif. You may have heard of him.”

Bodhi Rook. Oh yeah, Poe has heard of him.

Bodhi Rook. The Pilot. The man who gave up everything to do the right thing.

Poe has more than heard of him. Bodhi Rook is only his childhood idol, teenaged wet dream, and all-time number-one hero, is all. Poe only has a dozen tattered trading cards with the man's face on them stuffed in a shoebox somewhere under his bed. He only spent most of his teenage years sleeping under the watchful gaze of a full-size poster of Bodhi taped above his headboard.

And that doesn't even get into the dreams- the innocent ones from his childhood where they race x-wings together, and then the other kind from the years that came after. Yeah, he's not telling the General about those. Though judging from that smirk, she already knows.

He coughs and busies himself organizing the files on her desk. “I think I may have heard of him,” he says, not meeting her eyes.

“You don’t say.”

She’s probably making fun of him, but he can’t really bring himself to care. Bodhi Rook will be here tomorrow night. And Poe gets to meet him.

***

Bodhi Rook is not what he expects.

Poe’s not disappointed or anything, not at all- but the Bodhi Rook in his head is still a guy in his twenties in a mussed flight suit stained with engine grease.

When the door chimes and Poe goes to open it, he sees a willow of a man, tall and slim and graceful. Bodhi has to be pushing fifty, but you could barely tell from looking at him: other than a faint silvering at his temples he seems ageless, like a man out of time.

Poe momentarily forgets how to talk, just sort of stares at him, dumbfounded. Because he’d expected Bodhi was still going to be hot, yeah. He just hadn’t expected he was going to be _this_ hot. Silver foxes, what can he say.

Bodhi offers Poe a small smile and ducks his head. “Are these General Organa’s quarters?”

“Yes, they are,” Poe says, like an absolute idiot.

Bodhi stands there for a minute, head tilted. After the silence has stretched into something agonizing, he gently adds, “I believe she is expecting me.”

“Uh, yeah,” he stammers. Real smooth. “You can just, um, follow me.”

Bodhi sweeps into the entryway at Poe’s invitation. He’s wearing a simple robe long enough to brush the floor, cut from a soft linen the color of sand. It has a high neck and long sleeves that show off his slender neck and wrists to great effect.

Poe turns around and waves for Bodhi to follow him, because the alternative is dying on the spot.

He’s acutely aware of Bodhi’s presence behind him as they walk down the hall, and everything in him wants to turn around and seek out those big brown eyes again. Instead he stares straight ahead and listens to the sweep of Bodhi’s robes against the floor.

He realizes they’ve been walking in silence, and Bodhi probably thinks Poe hates him or something, and fuck, what do normal people talk about?

“Great weather for flying,” he says, and immediately wants to jump off a cliff.

“Oh?” Bodhi says, and at least he isn’t laughing at Poe; that’s something. “You’re a pilot?”

He nods, and then realizes Bodhi can’t see him. “I- yes. I fly a T-85, when I’m not working for the General.”

“Oh,” says Bodhi. “A T-85, you must be very good.”

The praise feels like sunshine and yeah, he’s pretty pathetic. Luckily he’s saved from having to answer because they’ve reached the General’s dining room. He holds the door open, and as Bodhi walks through he meets his eyes again- just for a moment- but it’s enough to make Poe’s toes curl. “It’s a real honor to meet you, sir,” he says before he can talk himself out of it.

Bodhi looks at the ground with a little laugh. “The honor is mine,” he says, and leans closer to look at the insignia on Poe’s chest, “Captain Dameron.”

Hearing his name in Bodhi’s mouth does something to him, and he knows he’s going to save that sound clip in his head and replay it whenever he’s next alone in his bed. _On your knees, Captain Dameron. Very good, Captain Dameron._ Fuck, something is wrong with him.

He opens his mouth to say… something, probably something stupid- but then the General is breezing into the room, arms spread in welcome. “Bodhi! So glad you could come!”

“General Organa,” Bodhi says, and a wide smile breaks across his face like a sunrise.

Poe steps out of their way to make sure the food is coming and thinks with a small twinge in his chest how wonderful it would be, if Bodhi looked at him like that.

***

As they eat, Bodhi and the General talk about everything, debating new tech and reminiscing about old war buddies in the same breath. Poe is content to listen, for the most part. Or rather: listen, and study Bodhi.

He comes to the conclusion that Bodhi’s age only shows in his stillness: in the holos from the war- and Poe has seen all of them- Bodhi has a nervous energy about him, his body stuttering across the holo like there’s a crisis just beyond the screen. He seems much calmer now. Good. If anyone deserves some peace, it’s Bodhi.

The General shoots Poe a few looks as the droids bring out their entrees- he isn’t usually this quiet- but honestly, whenever he opens his mouth, he realizes that he’s talking to _Bodhi Rook,_ and he forgets whatever he was going to say.

He thinks he might be making Bodhi a bit uncomfortable with the obvious and deeply embarrassing hero worship, not that he can really help it. He gets the sense that Bodhi isn’t much for attention: for one, he isn’t wearing any of his medals from the war, even though Poe knows for a fact that he was given enough to cover both sides of his chest, after Scarif.

Poe watches him take a sip of his drink and smile in response to something the General said, and tries to imagine what it must have been like.

Officially, Bodhi is the only one that made it off Scarif. Of course, it’s a bit of an open secret that Andor and Erso made it too: faked their own deaths and went to have a well-deserved happy ending somewhere on the edges of the galaxy. And Poe’s heard rumors that Andor’s droid made it out as well; the story is it managed to brute-force its way into the imperial network and get its consciousness off-planet before the base wiped. If you believe the rumors, it jumped onto a passing star destroyer and spent the rest of the war as a virus gleefully wreaking havoc on imperial systems.

But of course that’s all only rumor, and for the past few decades as far as anyone has actually been able to prove, Bodhi is Scarif’s sole survivor.

Poe studies him as he reaches for the ewer of water. He has thin wrists and long, tapered fingers. Poe’s going to be thinking about those fingers tonight, and for a long time after that. He shifts in his seat. Fuck, he needs to concentrate.

He manages to hold himself together until the droids take the dishes away. Bodhi and the General are talking about ships now, and okay, planes he can do. The General is discussing the T-70, and Bodhi is saying something about axial thrusters, and-

“Would you like to see my ship? Poe blurts out, right in the middle of the General’s sentence and far too loud.

The General and Bodhi both jump in their chairs, and Poe immediately wants to die on the spot.

This is Bodhi Rook, _the_ pilot, the man who brought the Empire to its knees. He’s not one of the starstruck teenaged x-wing chasers that clutter up the bars at local spaceports, for fuck’s sake.

The General takes a hurried drink, but Poe can see that behind the rim of her cup she’s trying not to smile. Traitor.

His mouth is already open to apologize and take the offer back, but Bodhi’s speaking, and wonder of wonders, he isn’t laughing. Instead he’s offering Poe a soft smile and dropping his eyes to the table. “Oh no, Captain- I wouldn’t want to trouble you.”

“It's no trouble at all,” Poe says, because even though he hadn’t meant to make the offer in the first place there’s no way he’s going to miss the opportunity to spend time with Bodhi one-on-one if he has the chance to do it.

Although technically he is on the clock right now. He glances at the General, and she must see duty warring with hope on his face, because she laughs and waves him off. “Captain Dameron would be happy to give you a tour of the hangars, Bodhi. I have some work to finish up here; I’ve coded the main doors to let you in when you’d like to return to your rooms for the night.”

***

Technically the hanger is closed and technically there's a fine for unauthorized entrance after hours, but even if the security guards actually remember to check the access logs, he's pretty sure there's no way he's getting in trouble. Pilots are pilots, and “I had the chance to show my x-wing to my childhood hero, who happens to be Bodhi-mother-fucking-Rook,” is a trump card.

When they get to his ship he can’t help but puff up with pride a bit; his baby looks gorgeous under the hangar lights. He’d spent his last day off going over every inch of her with a rag, buffing every exhaust pipe and data port until everything shone like starlight.

Bodhi approaches the ship with reverence in his eyes. He reaches out and skims his long fingers through the air inches from the underside of the wing, like he's afraid to touch it.

“She's beautiful”, he murmurs, and Poe feels the praise warm in his stomach like it’s Poe himself that Bodhi is complementing.

Poe seizes on the subject, because no matter how intimidating and distracting Bodhi is, Poe can always talk about his lady.

“She’s got four fusial thrustors and does 120 megalights per hour- that’s 20 over the old T-65B.”

There's a wistful smile on Bodhi’s face. “I would have loved to fly a plane like this.” He reaches out and lets a single finger rest on the tip of the fuselage, then traces the weld of the chassis down. “I was never a fighter pilot- I wanted to be, but my scores weren't high enough for starfighter track. I did transport.”

Poe waves the point away like it doesn't matter, and really it doesn't, even though Poe would be the first to admit that fighter pilots may have a bit of a superiority complex, especially around the mobility and transport guys. “Shooting at targets on a screen and doing aileron rolls wasn’t what got the Death Star plans to the Rebellion, sir.”

Bodhi ducks his head “That was Jyn and Cassian, and the others. I was just the pilot.“

Poe bridles. “Just- just the pilot?” he says, unable to stop himself. “None of it could have happened without you!”

“Without a pilot, I suppose,” Bodhi says with a shrug. “But it wasn’t fancy flying- any pilot could have done it.”

And that might be true, but as far as Poe’s convinced that just makes Bodhi more amazing. “Yeah,” he says, “but no one else did.”

Bodhi ducks his head like he’s embarrassed, but Poe catches the hint of a blush on his cheeks. “I suppose.”

He realizes with a start just how obnoxious he must seem to Bodhi- the poor man probably has to deal with overzealous fans rubbing his nose in his heroism every day. If only there were a way to make it up to him. To thank him.

“Hey,” he says. “Would you like to check out the cockpit? They’ve revamped the controls; it’s pretty cool.”

Bodhi’s eyes widen and he’s blushing again, and fuck, it shouldn’t be as cute as it is. “Oh no, I couldn’t-“

But Poe’s already made up his mind. He claps Bodhi on the back and nudges him towards the cockpit ladder. “No really, I insist- you’ll love it-“

Bodhi lets himself be herded up the ladder, and as Poe holds the ladder steady he realizes that Bodhi does, in fact, have really nice ass.

He comes to the realization: he’s going to go for it. Bodhi might rebuff him, might be utterly tired of fanboys throwing themselves at him- but damn it, Poe has to try, or he’s going to be kicking himself for the rest of his life.

As Bodhi swings himself over the lip of the cockpit and settles into the cockpit seat, Poe climbs up after him. He stops halfway up the ladder so that their eyes are of a height, and leans against the outside of the ship, mentally apologizing to her for what he’s about to try. He’ll give her a really deep clean afterwards using those special buffing agents they sell on Coruscant for an arm and a leg. But he’s not going to worry about that now.

Summoning his courage, Poe leans into the cockpit next to Bodhi and points at the dashboard. “State of the art targeting system, see?

“The fighters back in the day would have killed for one of these.” The tips of his ears are slightly pink.

Poe pulls himself closer, reaching around the back of Bodhi’s head to gesture at the controls on the far side of the cockpit. “And this is a revamped version of the T-65b atmospheric stabilizer system- takes the drag out of the turns when you’re doing rolls.”

Their heads are close, now. When Poe exhales, he can see his breath move the hair at the nape of Bodhi’s neck. It would be so easy to lean forward and kiss him there, at the spot where his jaw meets his neck. Would he be sensitive? Would he melt into the touch with a moan, or would he try to hold himself together, going rigid as Poe kissed him over and over.

 “Uh,” Bodhi says faintly. He swallows, the motion just visible beneath the high collar of his robe. Poe watches, fighting back the urge to pull back his collar and trace the lines of his neck lower, lower-

Poe takes a quick breath for courage and takes Bodhi’s hand in his, guiding it to the targeting joystick between his legs. He can feel Bodhi’s heart beating where their skin touches. The silence between them is suddenly a live wire. He presses his index finger down against Bodhi’s, indenting the button at the side of the targetter. With a whirr and a click, the targeting system retracts into the floor of the cockpit.

“It’s a nice upgrade on the T-70,” he says. “It gives more room in the cockpit, for when you need it. Say, if you wanted to fit two people inside.” Okay, not exactly subtle.

He can feel Bodhi freeze, hold his breath. An agonizing second passes, and then Bodhi releases his breath in a long shaky hiss. “Captain Dameron, what exactly are you trying to do?”

Poe thinks briefly about playing dumb- what? Who, me? But he can’t bring himself to do that, and honestly fuck it, this is the best chance he’s going to get. Before he loses his courage, he leans forward and presses an open-mouthed kiss to the side of Bodhi’s jaw, wet and full of longing.

Bodhi shivers. “Captain Dameron, this is- this is-“

Poe laves his tongue along Bodhi’s jawline, eliciting a delicious little gasp. “Do you want me to stop, sir?”

“I don’t- I can’t- I shouldn’t be taking advantage of you.”

That startles a laugh out of Poe, because really? “Sir,” he purrs, “I don’t think that’s what’s happening here.”

Bodhi’s eyes fall shut. “You- you seem to hold me in high regard-“

Poe bites down on the side of Bodhi’s neck, drags his teeth over his stubble. “I do, sir.”

Bodhi clenches his hand around the lapel of Poe’s jacket, but he doesn’t push him away. “I’m twice your age-“

If only he knew, if only Poe could tell him about all those nights in his bunk, imagining fucking Bodhi into the mattress and vice versa. “I’m old enough to know what I want, sir.”

“And what- and what is it that you want?” Bodhi asks, looking equal parts terrified and aroused.

Poe wants to crush their mouths together; Poe wants to plant kisses down his chest and thighs. Poe wants to take Bodhi’s cock in his mouth and worship it with his tongue until Bodhi loses control of himself and comes all over his face. Poe wants to see Bodhi fall apart underneath him.

“You, sir. If you’ll have me.”

And the universe smiles on him, because Bodhi swallows, and then he whispers, “yes.”

***

Poe clambers into the X-wing, and yeah, it’s not quite as easy as if he had a bed, but Poe wouldn’t dream of trying to seduce Bodhi in the General’s residence. Besides, the way Bodhi’s eyes widen when Poe kneels on the floor of the cockpit in front of him is damn near priceless.

He fits, even though it’s tight- but of course, that’s by design. There’s a regulation out there that an averaged size humanoid needs to be able to kneel on the floor of the cockpit, in case the wiring under the dash goes bad and it needs to be repaired on the fly. Poe’s actually had to do it himself a few times. But even then, he can’t imagine being as grateful as he is now.

He presses Bodhi’s arms down against the seat rests and holds them in place as he leans in to kiss the corner of Bodhi’s mouth. “Keep them there, sir,” he whispers.

Bodhi’s lips part beneath his, hesitant at first. But when Poe surges against him he’s kissing back just as hard as the kiss turns wet and messy.

Still worshipping Bodhi’s mouth, Poe fumbles blindly for the buttons of Bodhi’s robe, finds them, and yanks Bodhi’s collar open.

Bodhi lets out a soft noise of protest as Poe pulls away to take in the beautiful, beautiful sight of Bodhi’s neck and collarbone, laid out like a feast beneath him. He leans down and presses kisses everywhere, haphazard and random. One at the edge of Bodhi’s clavicle, one at the pulse point fluttering in his neck, one at the hollow at the base of his neck. Bodhi lets out a soft moan with each kiss, and Poe drinks them in like music.

Seized by impulse, he bites down on the side of Bodhi’s neck, wringing a cry from Bodhi that goes straight to his cock. He licks his tongue over the bite, then sucks hard.

When he leans back to survey his handiwork, Bodhi is looking at him like he’s some sort of god, and the bite has purpled into a lovely bruise. Bodhi’s high collar will cover it- just barely. But Poe will know it’s there, just beneath the surface, a lingering claim.

Beneath him, he can feel the press of Bodhi’s length against his hip; he rocks his hips forward experimentally and is rewarded by a hiss.

“Fuck, I want you, sir.”

Bodhi rolls his hips up to meet him. “You can have me, then.” And Poe needs no more encouragement than that. He gives Bodhi another quick kiss and then he’s sliding down to his knees on the floor of the cockpit.

Bodhi’s robe is well and truly tented, and Poe’s mouth is watering just looking at it. He reaches for the clasps of the robe and begins to undo them.

Bodhi swallows roughly. “Poe, you don’t need to-“

Poe almost laughs, because how could Bodhi understand how much Poe needs to do this? He needs it like air. He thinks he might die if he doesn’t get Bodhi’s cock in his mouth, right this instant. “Sir, let me do this for you.”

Poe can see the hesitation warring with the want, sees the instant that the latter wins out. “Please,” he whispers, and Poe is very happy to oblige. He finishes with the clasps and rucks Bodhi’s robe out of the way, letting his cock spring loose.

It’s a very nice cock: slender, with a slight curve. Poe leans forward and gives it an experimental lick.

“Fuck,” Bodhi hisses.

Bodhi looks up at him from beneath the fall of his eyelashes, and loves how he sees himself reflected in Bodhi’s eyes. He plants another few open mouthed kisses to the shaft. “You’re doing so good, sir,” he pants, and then swallows Bodhi’s cock all the way down.

He loses himself in the rhythm of it, in the taste of precum on his tongue and the stretch of his jaw. He can’t help but feel hot like this, his own cock is aching in his pants, and every one of Bodhi’s little gaps and cut off cries goes right to his gut. He brings his other hand down between his legs and rocks into it.

When he can’t take it any longer he risks a quick glance up, and oh, he’s so glad he did. Bodhi’s head is thrown back against the seat, mouth open and eyes clenched shut. Each breath shudders through him; every now and then he lets out a breathy moan as he tosses his head from side to side. His fingers are clenched around the armrests, white-knuckled.

It’s easily the hottest thing he’s ever seen; he could almost come from the sight alone. He grinds into his hand, moaning around Bodhi’s cock.

Tears pricking his eyes and his mouth is spit with slick and it’s perfect, because Bodhi is arching off the seat, his body going taut like a bow, and his cock is pulsing in Poe’s mouth and Poe is drinking down every drop-

He swallows, and ruts forward into his own hand one last time, and then he’s coming like a ship hitting light speed.

***

After, Bodhi reaches out for Poe hesitantly, like he’s afraid Poe is some figment of his imagination. He rests his hands on Poe’s temples, barely touching his skin, and cards his fingers through Poe’s hair, like he’s something amazing and infinitely precious.

After, Poe plants kiss after drowsy kiss to the pulse point of Bodhi’s wrist, to the pale skin of his sternum, to the side of his mouth.

After, Bodhi shifts over to make room for Poe on the too-small seat, and laughs as Poe curls up alongside him like a cat.

They do make it out of the x-wing, eventually. But not right away.

**Author's Note:**

> I saw your awesome prompts and couldn't help but write you a treat!


End file.
